Back Pocket
by not-affiliated-with-homestuck
Summary: Alfred meets a pickpocket on a crowded street in New York City. Oneshot


Alfred hummed absentmindedly as he stood in front of the Macy's on 34th street, popping his gum loudly and shivering in his bomber jacket. He had a plastic I NY shopping bag draped around his arm, which held an I NY t-shirt, a glass Statue of Liberty engraving, and half a ham-and-swiss sandwich. His mother, recently divorced and living in the city, had warned him to carry his "touristy merchandise shit" in a duffle bag instead of the loud courtesy bags provided by the gift shop, as the latter branded him a "Southern tourist sucker", but since the duffle bag he'd brought from home had the St. Louis Cardinals logo stitched onto it, he'd felt it was sort of a moot point. He had tried to protest that he should at least be recognized as a _Missouri_ tourist sucker, but he was pretty sure his complaint had gone unheard. Alfred didn't press the issue; he was used to being ignored, somewhat; his mother had always been a little flighty.

He was distracted by his thoughts, but not distracted enough that the hand brushing his ass could go unnoticed. His eyes widened and he turned to face a much shorter man with an impressively freckled face and even more impressive eyebrows.

"Hey, watch where you're putting that," said Alfred, taking a step back in surprise and almost colliding with a well-dressed businesswoman. The man with the shockingly thick eyebrows raised them, as if pretending this complaint was news to him.

"Putting what?" he asked innocently, though Alfred noticed that he'd drawn the guilty hand behind his back, as though concealing evidence. He also noticed that he had a prominent English accent.

Alfred narrowed his eyes. "That hand comes anywhere below my belt again, I'm shooting it off."

The Eyebrow Man grinned. "All right, you caught me, mate. I was just concerned about that lovely bulge in your pants."

Alfred turned scarlet, confused and alarmed, his momentary bravado gone. "I…what? I didn't…you're not…"

The shorter man laughed loudly and Alfred flinched. "You're mind's in the gutter, lad. I was talking about that impressive stack of cash you've got stuffed in your back pocket. You're asking to be mugged."

"Oh? And how would you know, Freckles?" muttered Alfred, still pink, patting his wallet to affirm it was still there.

"My name's Arthur, thank you." said the other man, laughing again. "I'm a professional pickpocket. I know a sucker when I see one."

"Oh," said Alfred shortly, turning to face Macy's again, unsure of whether or not Arthur was making fun of him. Arthur repositioned himself back into Alfred's line of sight, still grinning, as though he knew he was making Alfred uncomfortable. "It's obvious you're not from here, mate. Midwestern, I assume?"

"You assume correctly. You're very astute." Alfred grumbled sarcastically, popping his gum again. He sighed, glancing at the upper windows of the Macy's, wondering whether his mother would be finished soon.

"Waiting for somebody?" asked Arthur casually, his eyes following Alfred's line of sight. Alfred sighed again, nodding.

"Mom always says she'll take ten minutes, and she ends up being an hour. I always fall for it."

"You're not doing much to improve your initial impression as a sucker," Arthur commented nonchalantly. Alfred shrugged.

"You shouldn't take advantage of people who are trusting," he said quietly, turning away to watch the a pigeon land on the sidewalk and scavenge for crumbs. Alfred reached into his bag and tore off a piece of crust from his sandwich and tossed it lightly in the bird's direction. Arthur considered this statement for a moment.

"Maybe people shouldn't be so trusting in this world," he said finally, and Alfred chuckled humorlessly. "Maybe."

"Now he won't leave you alone," commented Arthur, as the pigeon inspected the bread crust, snatched it up, and hopped cautiously in Alfred's direction.

"Imagine that," said Alfred, turning to face Arthur and raising an eyebrow. Arthur laughed.

"I can't leave you alone in your state, lad, you're going to get mugged. I'm going to give you a few tips. Haven't you ever been to a city?"

"Yeah," said Alfred defensively, looking away. "I come up here to visit…" The words "_my mom_" hung on his lips for a moment before he stuttered awkwardly "…sometimes" instead."

"Well," Arthur said, matter-of-factly. "You've got to get rid of this bag. It's a dead giveaway."

"That's what my mom tells me."

"You've at least got to turn it inside out. Or better yet, don't buy anything that comes with that kind of bag, anyway. Why do you want-" Arthur reached inside the plastic bag without warning and grabbed the t-shirt. "-overpriced souvenirs like this, anyway? It's a cheap tourist trap. A dime a dozen, mate."

Alfred was silent. Arthur waited for an answer, but Alfred only held out his hand for the shirt, and Arthur returned it reluctantly before continuing his instruction.

"Next point; you're standing in the middle of the damn walkway," said Arthur pointedly, and suddenly Alfred was aware of the dirty looks that the other pedestrians were shooting him. He quickly stepped to the edge of the sidewalk and Arthur followed, smirking. "Natives know better than to interrupt the flow of traffic, mate."

"_Third- _and you can't really help this one, lad, so don't blame yourself – your accent is a dead giveaway," said Arthur bluntly. He turned away for a moment as Alfred gawked, pulling a piece of paper out of his back pocket to write something down.

"What – my _voice_? What am I supposed to do, not talk?" he stuttered indignantly.

"Yes," said Arthur simply, folding the paper, and Alfred steamed.

"Well, how am I supposed to do that?" he asked irritably.

"I can help with that," said Arthur, smoothly, and Alfred was suddenly yanked down to face Arthur, who had wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck and kissed him full on the mouth.

Alfred gave a yelp of surprise, but Arthur appeared not to notice, and Alfred simply stood there, frozen in place. He waited for Arthur to pull away, but Arthur's left hand had moved up Alfred's neck and into his hair. Alfred felt an unexpected and rather bizarre rush of longing. He suddenly could not remember the last time he'd been this close to another person; his mother hadn't remembered to give him a hug when he'd gotten off the plane this time, and his dad had never been a particularly physically expressive person.

Without thinking, he rested his hands on Arthur's arms and closed his fingers lightly around them; he could have sworn he felt Arthur's lips curve up in a laugh as the intensity of the kiss increased.

Arthur's hands moved away from Alfred's hair and toward his back, drawing him in closer for a moment before traveling south again.

"You still planning to shoot my hands off?" snickered Arthur and Alfred went rigid as Arthur slid his hands into both of Alfred's back pockets. Alfred felt Arthur laugh again and wondered if anybody from New York had qualms about extreme displays of public affection as long as they occurred away from the flow of pedestrian traffic.

Arthur suddenly pulled away and stepped back; Alfred's arms immediately fell to his sides, and Arthur clasped his behind his back. Alfred stared at Arthur for a moment, waiting for an explanation, but it was Arthur's turn to remain silent, and Alfred turned his reddened face away for a moment under the pretense of retrieving his merchandise bag off the sidewalk, where it had been dropped in the heat of the moment. Miraculously, the glass engraving was still intact. Alfred pulled it out of the bag and examined it.

"You know…" he mumbled, still blushing, "I used to buy these kinds of things for my dad a lot. He misses my mom real bad sometimes."

Arthur said nothing, but simply listened, and Alfred took a deep breath before continuing. He seemed to be talking more to himself than Arthur. "I stopped buying them because he'd get mad sometimes and throw them away or break 'em." He looked up at Arthur for a moment, whose expression was unreadable. "A couple of months ago, though, I was cleaning out the attic, and I found them. Even the busted ones. I thought he just threw them away, but he'd been saving them in a box. I guess he still misses her, you know?"

Arthur's face was blank, but some of his cockiness had disappeared, and his hard, emerald-green eyes seemed softer. He sighed and looked away for a moment.

"Good luck, Alfred. Hope you're not out here too long by yourself."

He patted Alfred once on the shoulder, turned, and disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

Minutes later, Alfred's mother returned, laden with shopping bags.

"I'm sorry I was gone so long, darling, the lines were absolutely mobbed and I found a wonderful deal on perfumes…do you have everything? Your bags, your phone?"

Alfred nodded, patting his coat pocket to reaffirm his phone was still there, and reaching to check his back pocket for his wallet. He stiffened.

"That…that son of a _bitch_," he gasped, turning around to check whether he'd dropped his wallet on the ground before cursing loudly. His mother glanced back to see why he had stopped.

"What is it, Alfred? Did you lose your wallet?"

"This…some guy stopped to talk to me and he…I think he stole my wallet," said Alfred in a hollow voice. His mother frowned.

"Darling, are you sure? I've told you, sweetie, you can't stand around oblivious like that, you're an easy target for thieves, I _told _you to bring a better bag to store your things in. Did you have anything important in there?"

"No, just my money and stuff." muttered Alfred. "It's not really a bit deal, it was only thirty bucks."

"Well, we'll buy you a new wallet when we get to Nordstrom's," said his mother airily. She smiled suddenly, nudging Alfred as they made their way to the next block. "Don't worry about it, alright? Think of it as an early Christmas present."

Alfred smiled, glancing sideways at her expression, which had softened somewhat. "Are you _sure _you checked both your pockets, darling? Somewhere you haven't looked?"

"I told you, it's not – " Alfred felt his other pocket; his fingers brushed against a thin piece of paper. He pulled it out and unfolded it. His eyes widened and he stared at the paper, unsure of what he was seeing at first. He almost laughed.

"What is it, dear?"

"Hmm?" asked Alfred, reading the seven hastily scribbled numbers on the paper once more before placing it carefully in his coat pocket. "It's nothing. Didn't find the wallet."

"Honey, be _careful_," said his mother, pulling him back as he absentmindedly stepped into the road, appearing not to have heard him. "There's cars everywhere, you're going to be hit, I swear, your head's always in the clouds, dear."

"At least I know where I get it from," said Alfred, smiling fondly, as the two of them made their way to the crosswalk and down the street.


End file.
